Time Is The Mercy Of Eternity

Little Fly, Thy Summer's Play My Thoughtless Hand Has Brushed Away. Am Not I A Fly Like Thee? Or Art Not Thou A Man Like Me? For I Dance And Drink And Sing, Till Some Blind Hand Shall Brush My Wing!

Degrade First The Arts If You'd Mankind Degrade. Hire Idiots To Paint With Cold Light & Hot Shade: Give High Price For The Worst, Leave The Best In Disgrace, And With Labours Of Ignorance Fill Every Place.

Children Of The Future Age Reading This Indignant Page Know That In A Former Time Love, Sweet Love, Was Thought A Crime

To Cast Aside From Poetry, All That Is Not Inspiration

For The Eye Altering Alters All; The Senses Roll Themselves In Fear And The Flat Earth Becomes A Ball.